


Sugar Cookies and Mistletoe

by h34rt1lly (LILYisatig3r)



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff, Just at the start of Mass Effect 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/pseuds/h34rt1lly
Summary: Just after the Reapers invade Earth, Shepard decides the crew needs a pick-me-up - in the form of a Christmas party.





	Sugar Cookies and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dbz2010](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbz2010/gifts).



> A gift for dbz2010 <3 Written for the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writers group fic exchange on Facebook! Happy holidays!
> 
> Thanks to StarryNight101 for beta-reading for me on such short notice <3

_This might be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had._

Jane Shepard stepped off the elevator and onto the CIC of the Normandy, hands clasped behind her back and chewing her bottom lip in nervousness. As she headed towards the galaxy map, Samantha Traynor about-faced and saluted her with a crisp, “Hello, Commander!”

With a nod, Shepard came to a stop in front of the Comm Specialist. “Traynor, I have a . . . personal favor to ask.”

Though Traynor looked slightly surprised, considering Shepard rarely asked for anything of a personal nature, she responded, “Anything you need, Commander.” 

“I, uh,” Jane began, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “In about two hours, could you announce that I need the entire crew to meet me in the mess hall?”

Traynor raised a slender, dark brow in a silent question, but nonetheless, said, “Of course.”

“Thanks.” Without another word, Jane headed back for the elevator. When the metal doors opened, she called out over her shoulder, “Oh, and ban anyone from coming to the deck in the meantime. I don’t wanna be interrupted.”

“Uh, right. Of course, Commander.”

Before the doors slid shut, Jane had to suppress a smile at seeing Traynor’s face; there were few times the specialist had looked so taken aback, and the secrets were worth seeing her reaction.

_Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all._

After a quick detour to her personal quarters to grab the required items, she headed down to deck three. As soon as the elevator freed her, she pushed the flatbed dolly she’d borrowed from the armory into the mess hall, peeking left and right to see if Traynor had cleared out the deck like she was supposed to.

When it appeared that the coast was clear, Shepard hurried to the kitchen, parking the dolly beside the counter. With a prolonged exhale, she propped her hands up on her hips and gazed around the room. As with most military freighters and ships, the mess hall was relatively barren. Exposed wires traced paths along the ceiling, and the steady hum of the Normandy’s drive core reverberated through the floors. The walls were plain, the lights, fluorescent.

Nothing particularly remarkable that set it apart from any other Alliance ship.

Except this was the Normandy.

Everyone assigned to her crew held this sense of pride. They knew what she and her previous crews had seen, had fought for, and even those who had left her side when she’d been affiliated with Cerberus, only to return later, had more than made up for their brief moment of hesitation. Besides, she understood. It wasn’t as if she’d _wanted_ to work with the Illusive Man. But the needs of the galaxy came first, and she’d done what needed to be done. She couldn’t fault those who’d chosen otherwise, no matter what the reason had been.

The Normandy was infused with this sense of honor and pride. As such, she wanted to show her crew just how much she appreciated them—their loyalty, their sacrifices, their dedication to taking down the Reapers.

And sometimes, that involved throwing a party. In this case, a _Christmas_ party.

It had only been two months since the Reapers had attacked Earth; only two months since they’d been given free reign with the Normandy, to do what she did best. But ever since the first moment they’d seen the claws of death reach down from the atmosphere, tensions had been running high. It felt as if they were straining tighter and tighter, and if _she_ couldn’t stand the pressure, the weight, then how did the rest of her crew feel?

No, they all needed a break, a distraction—something to lighten the mood and remind them all what they were fighting for. It wasn’t even that it happened to be the end of December that really mattered. It was the sense of camaraderie, of belonging, of tradition from the past that fueled the future, that they desperately needed right now.

And so, she’d give it to them.

With that thought, Shepard rolled up the sleeves of her BDUs. “All right. Down to business.”

First things first: sugar cookies. It had been _years_ since she’d baked, so when she snatched a spare holopad from one of the mess tables to look up a recipe, she hoped no one would consider it cheating. After finding a relatively simple one, she meandered over to the fridge, pulling out the necessary ingredients one-by-one. Once everything was spread out on the island counter, she went fishing for a mixing bowl.

Even though she’d already been back on the Normandy for two months, she still wasn’t entirely used to the new mess sergeant’s organization. Briefly, she found herself missing Mess Sergeant Gardner. He’d been a quirky fellow, but his heart had been in the right place—and most importantly, she liked the way he organized his kitchen.

_Where the hell is the mixer?_

A few minutes of rummaging through the cabinets finally revealed the mixer and paired mixing bowls. Quickly, and far more sloppily than she intended, she tossed the ingredients into the bowl. Once the substance was thoroughly blended and actually resembled cookie dough, she spooned the mixture onto a procured tray and shoved it into the oven. Wiping her forearm across her forehead—and unknowingly depositing leftover flour on her skin as a result—she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a mechanical hiss from behind her.

With her hand flying to her hip out of reflex, even though she wasn’t suited up _or_ armed, she pivoted on her heel and faced the door to the main battery. Garrus was walking out, sharp gaze narrowed on the holopad in his hand. When he reached the end of the walkway and glanced up, and saw Shepard standing there, eyes wide in surprise and hand reflexively curled around the empty air at her hip, his mandibles twitched in amusement. 

“Uh, you suddenly taking up modeling, Shepard?” he quipped, lowering his arm to his side.

“Garrus! What are you—What are you doing in here, still?” Shepard stuttered, straightening and forcing herself to drop the rigid, battle-ready posture she’d assumed.

Again, his mandibles fluttered, the equivalent of him raising an eyebrow. “I’m always in the main battery, you know that.”

“No, I mean . . . Traynor should have . . .” Shepard trailed off, embarrassed that he’d caught her so flustered, and also that he’d unintentionally ruined the surprise.

His eyes narrowed, and he drew his mandibles in, closer to his face. “Did she make an announcement? I was working on a particularly touchy calibration, so I turned off the speaker in the main battery for a little while. I must’ve missed it.”

Shepard closed her eyes as an annoyed sigh leaked out of her. _Of course he did—the one person on this ship that I wanted to surprise the most._

“Was it important? I mean, I’m happy to get the announcement from you,” Garrus stated. “Or I can run up to the bridge and—”

“No!” Shepard threw her hand out, realizing that it was greasy from the cookie dough and hastily hiding it behind her back. “No, it’s fine. I just . . . had some stuff to take care of down here, so I didn’t want anyone interrupting me. I asked her to keep everyone off the deck for a couple hours, is all, so you caught me by surprise.”

At that, Garrus’ gaze swept over the mess in the kitchen. His eyes flitted from the now-dirty mixer, to the next tray laden with cookies that was due to go into the oven once the first was done. Then, his shrewd gaze flickered to the flour that was laced throughout her dark hair, and the way her hand was now tucked behind her back.

“Busy . . . baking?” His voice was dripping with disbelief, though Shepard caught the underlying, teasing tone. “I didn’t realize the great Commander Shepard baked.”

“It’s a rare occurrence. You should remember this moment while it lasts,” she teased, winking at him.

“Noted,” he joked in return, leaning against the counter and folding his arms in front of him. “So . . . what exactly _are_ you baking?”

Shepard _tsk_ ed at Garrus, wagging her finger in front of his face. “That’s a secret to be revealed later, I promise. However,” she said, moving around the counter and grasping his cooler hands in her own. “Since you happen to still be here, I _could_ use your help.”

“Oh, no. You can’t rope me into this, Shepard. I had some . . . business to attend to. Elsewhere.”

“And that business is more important than helping _me_?” she asked, quirking her brow.

Garrus stared down at her, his mandibles twitching ever-so-slightly, until he finally let out the tiniest, most dramatic of sighs. “Oh, all right. When you put it that way . . .”

A smile spread across her face, and she dragged him—albeit as gently as possible—towards the dolly she’d brought down. After letting go of his hands, she popped the lid off of the top-most storage crate, revealing fake foliage and ropes of wound Christmas lights. 

“Behold!” Shepard announced dramatically, sweeping her arm over the box’s contents.

If Garrus had an eyebrow to raise, she was sure he would’ve done it. “And these are?”

“Christmas decorations!”

This time, Garrus folded his arms over his chest plate. “And Christmas is . . .?”

Shepard waved her hand in the air. “I could go into the details and explain all the religious hooplah to you, but in short . . . I’m doing this for the crew.”

The tightness in Garrus’ jaw, and the slight confusion in his eyes dissipated. “Most of the crew _is_ human. I imagine they’d all be familiar with at least the concept of the holiday—better than, say, me or Tali, or even Liara.”

“I imagine most of us, at the very least, know of it from past traditions. Not all of us may celebrate it, but my line of thought was . . .” Shepard trailed off, staring down at her hands as she braced them around the counter. “This shit with the Reapers, having to leave Earth behind . . . I think that, no matter the _cause_ for the celebration, we could all use an excuse, a good reason, to smile, nowadays.”

For a moment, Garrus studied her. His gaze flickered across her features, before steadily boring into what felt like her very soul. Eventually, he said, “I think this is a great idea.”

The breath Shepard hadn’t even realized she’d been holding whooshed out of her, and she let go of the counter. “Good.”

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, pushing off of the counter and holding out his hands.

* * *

Over the course of the next hour and a half, Shepard and Garrus puttered around the mess hall. Together, they strung garlands along the ceiling, obscuring the exposed wiring of the ship, wound lights around the columns separating the tables from the kitchen, and placed various bits and bobs around the room. Beside the kitchen counter sat a stack of foil-wrapped, oversized present boxes and when Garrus had been occupied on the opposite side of the room, Shepard climbed up and hung a tiny mistletoe just above the stairs leading to the main battery.

Once her boots were back on the metal floor, she stared up at it with a smile on her face and her hands on her hips, feeling pretty darn satisfied with herself. Quickly, before Garrus could notice what she’d done, she stashed the step-ladder to the side and made her way over to join him.

He was having trouble figuring out how the Christmas tree worked, and she snickered under her breath as she sidled up to him. “Need help there, Vakarian?”

Seemingly annoyed, Garrus glared at her out of the side of his eye. “Why you made the turian who doesn’t have the slightest idea what Christmas even is, put together the . . . tree . . . I’ll never know.”

The way he said “tree”, making this sound like the most bizarre situation in the entire galaxy, had her unable to hold back her laughter any longer. She doubled over, cackling with her hand over her mouth and eyes squeezed tightly shut. With the most human-like eye-roll she’d ever seen him do, he stared at her with the pieces of the base of the tree in his hand, waiting for her to finish with his own version of a wry grin.

When she finally straightened, wiping the tears from her eyes, he asked, “You done, Shepard?”

“I think so,” she said, with one last chuckle. “Ah, that was good, Garrus.”

“I don’t even know what you were laughing at.”

With an affectionate pat to his upper arm, she grabbed the pieces from his hand. “You. Just you.”

After a quick lesson on how to put together a Christmas tree, Shepard left Garrus to his project and jogged over to the kitchen to pull the last batch of sugar cookies out of the oven. It took a few minutes to procure some plates from the depths of the kitchen cabinets, but soon enough, she had the baked, but unfrosted cookies, laying out. Pleased with how well they’d turned for what was, ahem, her first time making sugar cookies in years, she returned to Garrus with an extra skip in her step.

“Done yet?” she asked, bumping her shoulder against his when she stood beside him again.

He was fanning out the branches at the very top of the tree now, taking extra care to make the spread even, and obscuring all gaps. Even with something as simple as putting together a Christmas tree, he couldn’t let himself half-ass it—it was one of the things Shepard admired about him so much.

“Almost . . .” Garrus said, trailing off as his focus was once again pulled to the task at hand.

Shepard chuckled as she watched him work, before moving over to the dolly to grab the other storage crate. A quick check of the slim watch around her wrist revealed that they only had fifteen minutes until the two-hour restriction on the deck was lifted.

With slightly more force than intended, she dropped the crate at Garrus’ feet, causing him to start. He glanced at her with a slightly annoyed glint in his eye, before pulling the final branch into place with a satisfied huff.

“There. Your Christmas tree is finished.”

“Oh, Garrus, hardly.”

If it hadn’t been for some incredible self-control, Shepard would’ve burst out laughing all over again at the appalled look he gave her. Still, a tiny laugh escaped her and she gestured to the crate. “But don’t worry, I’m not making you decorate it, too. That’s something I want the crew to do together.”

“Oh, thank God, Shepard. Isn’t that what you humans say when you’re relieved?” he quipped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Some of us, yeah,” she replied with a grin. “We’ve got fifteen minutes until people start showin’ up, so help me set the table real quick.”

“Set the table? Did you make something _other_ than what you were baking earlier?”

“The before project was sugar cookies. That’s also a surprise for the crew. But to be honest, that’s about the extent of my cooking abilities,” she explained with a sheepish grin. “As for the other half, I cheated, and picked it up from a restaurant on the Citadel last time we were there.”

Garrus stared at her in confusion, and she waved him off with a laugh. “Just go set the table. I’ve just gotta pop this one last thing into the oven.”

“All right, all right,” he conceded, opening and closing the kitchen cabinets as he tried to hunt down the plates and utensils.

After sliding the casserole into the oven and setting the timer, Shepard joined Garrus in setting out the dinnerware, overcome with a feeling of warmth. There was something about the moments before a social gathering, especially one for a holiday such as Christmas, that filled her with a sense of positive anticipation. Being surrounded by those you cared about, and who cared about you, was something far too many people took for granted. Considering the state of the galaxy nowadays, it was, sadly, a rare occurrence, and she didn’t imagine the days to come would improve in that aspect.

This was a moment, a snapshot in time, that the crew of the Normandy would be allowed to just _be_ together—something she hoped everyone would appreciate, and feel more at ease afterwards.

Another quick glance at her watch revealed that their time was up, and Shepard looked up at the ceiling of the ship. “Hey, Traynor?”

Almost immediately, Samantha’s lilting, accented voice called out through the speakers. “Yes, Commander?”

“We’re ready. Send the crew down!”

Garrus chuckled under his breath at her exuberant excitement, and Traynor replied with a crisp, “Yes, ma’am!”

Shepard smiled up at Garrus, no longer miffed that he’d spoiled the surprise. It was nice to decorate together, just the two of them, and it had her wondering what their lives might be like if they were civilians, living somewhere in space in a tiny colony, decorating their home for the holidays. Then again, they likely wouldn’t have met one another if that were the case.

As she was staring up at him, one last realization hit her. “Oh, I almost forgot! EDI, are you listening?”

Just as quickly as Traynor’s response had been, EDI’s nearly-monotone voice replied, “I am always listening, Commander Shepard.”

“Not creepy at all,” Shepard mumbled under her breath, at which Garrus laughed, before asking, “Can you see what you can do about finding traditional Christmas music on the extranet?” 

“Of course, Shepard. Is there any particular style you were looking for?”

“Uh, no. Just . . . Christmas music.”

A beat of silence passed, before the sound of bluesy, old-school Christmas music filled the room. Where EDI managed to find such classic, well past vintage music, was beyond Shepard, but she wasn’t complaining—it provided the perfect ambience.

Before long, the elevator doors slid open with a slight hiss, and the crew started coming around the dividing wall.

“Hey, Commander!”

“Wow, look at all this! Did _you_ do this, Commander?”

“Oh . . . my . . . God! It’s been ages since I’ve seen real Christmas lights!”

With every exclamation and every additional smile, Shepard felt more and more like she’d succeeded in her plan. Maybe it _hadn’t_ been a terrible one, and at the risk of sounding conceited, one of her best thus far.

Liara and Tali came around the corner, and seeing the asari’s eyes go wide, and hearing Tali suck in a surprised breath, was infinitely worth all the effort it had been to collect the decorations. A genuine smile took over Shepard’s face, and she waved at them from beside the Christmas tree.

“What do you two think?” she asked, sweeping her arm around the room.

Liara followed her gesture, and the soft, diffused glow from the Christmas lights illuminated her face. “Shepard, this is . . . beautiful.”

“I thought so, too, but I’m especially glad you think so, Liara.” The asari had a few questions about the customs and history behind the traditions of Christmas, her curiosity a trait of hers that had never really faded even after how much she’d changed over the years. Shepard answered them as best she could, watching the rest of the crew mill about in wonder.

Meanwhile, Tali was trailing Garrus around the room, pointing out all of her favorite decorations and earning more than a few chuckles from the turian. When the rest of the gang showed up, Vega called out, “Lola! Are those cookies I see? Who knew she baked, eh, esteban?”

With an exasperated sigh, Cortez’s voice piped up. “Let’s just go get some cookies, James.”

Kaidan and EDI, followed closely by Joker at a much slower pace, entered the room together. Traynor and Diana Allers were next, and Daniels and Donnelly weren’t far behind. Dr. Chakwas brought up the rear, and it was then that Shepard addressed the room.

“Welcome, everyone! I know it’s a little unconventional, since Christmas is kinda outdated and really only celebrated on Earth but . . . I know the past couple of months has been hard—for all of us. Human, turian, asari, quarians alike, we’ve all _lost_ things—someone, someplace, that means something to us. The Reapers have taken so much from us, and it’s going to take a lot of teamwork to shut them down.” Shepard emphasized her point by pounding her fist into the opposite palm. “But I believe in us, and what we’re trying to do in uniting the galaxy to fight them _together_ —and that’s what’s most important. We’re in this together, and if we’re going to win, we need to believe that. 

All around the room, every single member of the crew of the Normandy was nodding fervently, listening to her every word. She paused for a moment, looking into each and every one of their eyes, before speaking again. 

“Sometimes, even though deep down, we believe something to be true, we need a little bit of help, of reassurance. I thought some Christmas cheer would help with that.” She ended with a flourish, gesturing to all of the decorations around the room. “As you guys can see, Garrus and I have already put up most of the decorations, but I saved the best for last!” 

The crew whooped and hollered, seemingly anxious to dig in to the festivities. First, Shepard pointed to the kitchen behind her. “I baked some sugar cookies—and before anyone says anything, yes, I know how to bake,” she said, and the crew laughed at that. “I want everyone to decorate their own, and feel free to have as many as you’d like! I also baked a casserole that, now that I remember, I need to take out of the oven, but again, feel free to grab some grub! 

“After everyone’s eaten their fill,” she explained, dramatically waving her arms at the tree beside her, “feel free to come help decorate the tree! Garrus graciously put it together for everyone—” 

To which Garrus stepped forward, calling out, “Much to my annoyance and confusion, I want to add!”

Shepard shook her head with a smile, before finishing with, “—and I want to see it brimming with ornaments!”

Once she gave the go-ahead, the crew surged past her, heading straight for the cookies. Tali beelined for the tree, and grabbed Shepard’s hands in her own. “Shepard! This is so amazing! I’ve never seen this type of tree inside of a ship before, let alone one so large!”

“Tali, the tree isn’t real,” Shepard chuckled.

The glow of the quarian’s eyes widened through her mask, and she stared up at the tree in awe. Fingering some of the plastic bristles, she mumbled, “How interesting. So how exactly did . . .” She trailed off, muttering under her breath about how fake trees work, why they exist, and various other things Shepard didn’t quite catch.

Sliding the storage crate over, she popped the lid off and handed Tali the first case of shiny ornaments. “Here, Tali. Go crazy.”

Still muttering, Tali grabbed the case from Shepard and stood there, staring at the tree. Again, Shepard laughed before heading over to the kitchen. Kaidan was talking to Joker and EDI while he slathered a sugar cookie with green frosting, and he looked up at Shepard when she approached.

“Hey, Commander. Thanks for the cookies. It’s been forever since I’ve had one, and I didn’t realize how much I missed them until now.” Kaidan lifted the cookie in a mock-salute before taking a bite, and she affectionately patted his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Major.”

Joker stuffed his already-frosted and sprinkled cookie into his mouth, talking through his chews. “Man, Commander, I’m with Kaidan. It’s been for _ever_ since I’ve had sugar cookies. These are the best! Did you make ‘em from scratch?”

“I sure did,” Shepard replied, lips quirking with amusement as she wondered whether Joker would ask about the recipe.

“I had no idea you could even bake,” Joker added, taking another bite. From beside him, EDI shook her head.

“You’ll choke if you continue eating so quickly, Jeff.”

“Ah, who gets to have as many sugar cookies as they want per the Commander’s orders, am I right?” Joker said, lifting his cookie to Kaidan.

The Major mirrored the gesture with the last bite of his cookie, before grabbing another.

Shepard laughed, waving jovially as she backed away from the counter. “Don’t get _too_ hopped up on sugar, boys.”

“No promises, Commander!” Joker laughed, before adding, “Oh, we took the casserole out of the oven for you.”

When he gestured behind him, she offered him a lazy salute in response. Vega and Cortez materialized out of the crew, joining Joker and them in the kitchen and offering an equally casual salute in her direction as she backed up. Before she could turn around, she bumped into the hard surface of someone’s armor. Pivoting on her heel, she quirked an eyebrow when she realized it had been Garrus.

“You need to stop standing right behind people, Garrus,” she jokingly chided him, propping a hand on her hip.

“Maybe you should stop walking backwards, Shepard. It’s a dangerous habit.” His voice was laced with humor, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Touché.”

Their laughter died, and she coyly glanced upwards at the mistletoe she’d so strategically placed earlier. It was almost directly above them, and she grasped Garrus’ upper arms before gently pushing him back. 

“What are you—” He began to ask, before she cut him off. 

“Has anyone ever explained to you the human tradition of mistletoe, Garrus?”

“Mistle . . . toe? No, but it sounds awful.”

A full-bellied chortle left her, and she trailed her hands along his armor, following the hard ridges to his chest. Splaying her fingers out against the scuffed metal, she said, “I guess that’s fair. Without context, it does sound pretty weird. Mistletoe—” She paused, glancing upwards at the sprig of holly. “—is an ancient human tradition, one that I honestly couldn’t really explain the origins of to you, but that part isn’t really important. Anyway, when two people are found standing _under_ mistletoe, the tradition states that they have to kiss.”

Garrus’ mandibles pulled in tighter, and when he spoke, he sounded miffed. “Compulsory affection seems like a terrible tradition to uphold.”

A light swat to his armor made her fingertips sting, and she added, “It’s supposed to be romantic, Vakarian.”

At that, he held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. What do I know about romance, I guess?”

“Fair enough,” Shepard joked, lacing her arms around his slim waist. “So, uh, we happen to be standing under the mistletoe, now . . .”

Garrus’ eyes widened in surprise, before he, too, glanced upwards. “I guess we are. Gee, I wonder how that happened.”

As she shuffled closer to him, Shepard mumbled, “A mystery.”

He looked back down at her, gently tracing the tip of one of his talons along her cheekbone. “A mystery, indeed. I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t mind being, uh, ‘forced’ to kiss you.”

Just before Garrus leaned down to press his face plates to her lips, she smiled and said, “Lucky me.”


End file.
